


on the tongue of all the sinners

by CallicoKitten



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Multi, Post-Series, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:12:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyway, the problem now of course is that Cassidy's not only found one buggar to stick around for, he's gone and found two. Two perfect gun-slinging, whiskey drinking, gutter mouthed idiots and - not to be getting sentimental or nothing - but Cass is smitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the tongue of all the sinners

**Author's Note:**

> what r we gonna do guys. no more preacher until next year D:
> 
> title is from modern love by mother mother

The thing is, Cassidy's never much minded being on the outside looking in. Comes with the territory, being a vampire and all. The minute he got that bite he knew he could kiss his dreams of... of well _involvement_ goodbye.

He's never minded, really. People, by and large, he's found, are gobshites. Rude or stupid or boring. Sure, they're fun for a little while but sooner or later they start to wear and sooner or later Cassidy starts getting hungry. (He's kidding. Mostly.)

 _Anyway,_ the problem now of course is that Cassidy's not only found _one_ buggar to stick around for, he's gone and found _two._ Two perfect gun-slinging, whiskey drinking, gutter mouthed idiots and - not to be getting sentimental or nothing - but Cass is _smitten._ It's like what he remembers standing outside in a sunny day felt like. (Not that the sun shone much in Dublin but you get the idea.)

There's a bit of awkwardness at first. He and Jess have exchanged messy hand jobs in storage cupboards and drunken fucks in the pews of his daddy's church and he and Tulip had their moment of magic but now they're together, Cass feels a little out of his depth.

They're symbiotic, see. Move as one, think as one, talk as one and they're so damned _happy_ about it. Jess still sweats out angst like all good Christian boys with more than his fair share of blood and rust in his blood and Tulip's still cagey, still just as liable to break one or both of their noses than any of ne'er-do-wells they run into on their travels but they're _happy_ and honestly, it's all a little bit overwhelming.

They tell stories of their childhood, scrapped knees and bullies and stealing cigarettes - the kind of thing that'd earn Cassidy a good hiding - in fragments, _remembers when's_ and _oh my god's_ and the _you had to be there_ is always unsaid but it's there and look, Cass isn't really about that. He's not _jealous_ or _petty_ and he's old enough that being a third wheel shouldn't bother him but between Tulip's smirk and Jesse's laugh he's really not sure what else there is to do.

\---

"You here alone?" The bar girl asks. She's petite and curvy and blonde, smoky eye-shadow, quick little grin. Cass should probably be all over her. "I get off in half an hour, you know," she adds, lowering her voice. She winks, devilishly.

Cass watches her go.

"Well look at you go, Cass," Jesse says, dropping in to the stool next to him. There's a fleck of blood on his jaw that the shower he took with Tulip hasn't shaken loose, Cass looks away, stares bleakly at his pint.

"You gonna go have some fun with her?" The words roll off Jesse's tongue thick and rich like honey, like molasses and would you look at that, Cass is getting poetic. He's only had two pints, it's pathetic, really. Must be the Irish in him. Two things the Irish have: the gift of the gab and a tendency towards cirrhosis. Up until now, Cass thought he'd dodged both of them.

"You know, Padre, after that last little mess I'm a little tired."

"Awh, now, Cassidy, we talked about this. You gotta let yourself unwind some," he slings an arm around Cass's shoulders, jostles him. "It ain't good for you, you know? All work and no play makes Cass a dull boy."

"I'm a 120, Jess, I'm too old for fun. By rights I should be retired."

Jesse snorts, "Bullcrap. Maybe you're just not feeling that model tonight, Cass. What about that nice fella over by the pool table? He's been checking you out all night."

Cass looks across at the guy. He's too skinny, too obvious. They're in Minnesota, chances are he wouldn't have the kind of Southern drawl that has Cass standing to attention these days. "'M not in the mood, Jess."

Jesse draws back, frowning. He eyes Cass pensively for a few moments, opens his mouth but closes it again because Tulip's slamming through the bar doors and strutting across the room towards them and honestly, in Cassidy's brain it's all accompanied by a choir of angels. Gothic angels, you know. Maybe the Rolling Stones or the Sex Pistols.

It's like the heavens opening up but more spectacular, is what he's getting at.

"There's my boys," Tulip grins. "Now, who wants to buy me a drink, huh?"

Jess exchanges a look with Cass and huffs, pushing off his seat towards the bar. Tulip takes it, leans across the table, hand on Cassidy's arm. "You alright, Cass?"

Cass stands up, "I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat. I'll see you two at the motel later, alright?"

\---

Cass drinks himself silly, makes it back to the motel stinking of blood and booze. Jess meets him in the hallway, pins him against the wall before Cass has much of a chance to react.

"Tulip says you're jealous," he says. It's not accusatory, more curious. He leans up on his tip-toes, gets right up close to Cass' face. "You jealous, Cass?" His breath is hot and whiskey-sweet.

That blood's still there, a perfect smudge at the juncture of his jaw and his throat. Cass exhales nice and slow. "Haven't you a pretty girl to be seeing to, Padre?"

Jesse grins, "Now, _Cass_. You know I ain't one for playing favourites."

He kisses Cass slow and deep, hands gripping Cass' arms. It leaves Cassidy dizzy and blinking.

"Come on," Jesse says. "You know how Tulip gets when we make her wait."

\---

Tulip, Cass learns, calls the shots most everywhere. Even when she lets Jesse think she's not. She directs them both with her eyes, with her mouth, with her teeth (and Cass has never in his life woken up so bruised and battered.)

The first few times it's quick and rough and more than anything, a tangle of limbs and laboured breathing, damp hair and kiss-swollen limbs, on scratchy motel sheets and in the back of Tulip's car (which she's not best pleased about.) They slow up eventually, Cass gets to map them out with his mouth, learns where to be gentle, where to be rough. Where to use teeth and where not to.

He learns how to make Jesse Custer moan, reverberating through his chest, eyes squeezed shut, hips canted off the bed gasping, _Cass, Cass, **please.**_

He learns how to make Tulip O'Hare _beg (_ and he's under pain of death not to tell another living soul about it) dark pupils blown wide, hand tangled in Cassidy's hair.

There's some things that just come with a century of experience, he supposes.

\---

They've found a motel that smell of piss and shit, with clear water and soft sheets. They're indulging a little.

Jesse's asleep, sprawled on his front to Cassidy's right. Tulip's on his left, leant up against him. One of his arms is around her, tracing swirly patterns on her shoulder, the others holding the cigarette they're sharing.

The room is technically non-smoking but neither of them care much for that sentiment.

Tulip leans over and plucks the cigarette out of his hand. Cass runs it through Jesse's hair instead and he mumbles, pressing closer to Cass' touch.

Cass sighs, happily. "You know, I've never held much stock in this white-picket fence, soul mate crap, you yanks go on about but I've got to admit, this is kind of working for me."

Tulip makes a face, "Ain't exactly the traditional white picket fence, Cass."

"Awh, you know what I mean, don't you, though? Me, you and Jess, taking on the world. They write poems about that sort of thing, you know."

Tulip shifts against him, takes another drag. Cass loves watching her smoke, he loves watching her do anything but smoking, smoking is an art in the hands of Tulip O'Hare. She holds the cigarettes daintily, breathes out elegantly.

"Who's _they_?" She mutters.

"Well, I don't know, do I? The Greats, I suppose. You know, the Romantics. Byron, or whatever the fuck his name is. Maybe I could give it a go."

Tulip snorts.

"What? Do you doubt my literary ability? I'll have you know back home I was well known for my poetry."

"Oh, _really_?"

"Well, alright. Maybe they were more limericks, but I was just a lad then, really. Now I'm older, more refined like, you know?"

Tulip laughs, Cassidy grins. She leans up and kisses him, lazily.

"I ain't in love with you, Cassidy," she tells him firmly when she's pulled away. "You know that, right?"

"Well, that's good," Cass tells her back. "I'm not in love with you, either. Makes this a whole lot less awkward."

She laughs again, it's more a giggle this time, presses up against him closer. "I ain't in love with Jesse, neither."

"No," Cass agrees. "Nor I."

She grins. He kisses her.

"Well, now we've got that sorted I say we make the most of these remarkably un-parasiteridden sheets," Cass decides. "Don't you think?"

"Mighty fine idea, Cass," Tulip says. She clambers on top of him, shakes Jesse awake. "Mighty fine idea."


End file.
